"Go on." I preferred him to tell me then, because it was almost noon and I'd be up to my neck in the office. Not to mention that I had to report to Ghikas.
"I found someone who saw a black Renegade parked two streets down from Kostarakou's place."
"What time?"
"At six-thirty. He's a lawyer and he was going back to his office. He parked in front of the Renegade."
"Did he notice the license number?"
"No."
"Ask in the building where Petratos lives if anyone noticed the Renegade missing from the garage after around five."
"I already did. One of the tenants was in the garage just before six and is certain that Petratos's car wasn't there." He was congratulating himself for making up for his blunder with Kolakoglou.
"You see how far you get when you ride hard?" I said patronizingly. He took it as a sign of reconciliation and smiled in relief.
I went straight to see Ghikas. If I delayed, it would only make things worse. He listened to me without interrupting even once.
"Are you sure they went to the hotel without notifying us first?" he said at the end.
"Yes. They didn't inform us or the local police station."
"Are there any witnesses to confirm that?"
"The hotel owner, who called the station. And the police officers who found them there."
"You did right to let him go," he said, obviously pleased. "Now they won't dare say another word about Kolakoglou. We lost him because of them." He looked at me and smiled. "Yesterday, you were surprised that I contacted Delopoulos right away. He used the information, wanted to move behind our backs, and made a mess of it. That's what it means to be flexible. You throw him the cheese, he goes to bite it, and he falls into the trap."
I smiled at him. If I was lucky and Ghikas was to remain another couple of years in that position, then with all the tricks I was picking up from him, I'd be certain to get a promotion.
"So that's the good news. Now for the bad news," he said. "I received the handwriting report. We drew a blank. It's not Petratos's."
On the one hand, it rankled me. On the other, though, I was thankful that my intuition always led me to keep something up my sleeve. "I told you yesterday that would probably be the result. It doesn't mean a great deal, in any case." And I gave him the latest on Petratos's Renegade.
Things had taken a downturn with the negative report on the handwriting, and he was weighing how he was going to deal with it. "Leave it to me," he said eventually. "I'll sort it out and I'll let you know. Meanwhile, find out all you can about Pylarinos."
"I'm like a cat on hot bricks, that's why I'm moving slowly," I said, to show him that I was following his advice. "In a couple of days, I'll have something."
I wasn't at all surprised that the usual throng wasn't in the hall. They were all at their studios, editing their videocassettes and sound recordings for the day's big story. The same story all around and each of them with an exclusive report.
On my desk I found the photographs from Karayoryi's film.
In the first one, Pylarinos was holding up his drink, smiling, as if wanting to toast me. It was only natural that he was in good spirits, as he was partying in a nightclub with three others. Two of them were obviously foreigners, Germans, Belgians, Dutch, I'd no way of knowing-at any rate, they looked like northern Europeans. The other one was lank and surly. He was wearing gold-rimmed glasses, a dark suit, his hair was brushed back and stuck down. He didn't look to me like a businessman. More like the director of a ministerial department or of some public organization. While Pylarinos and the man next to him were plainly enjoying themselves, this one had a constipated smile, as if he were smiling out of obligation. There was something about his face that was familiar to me, but I couldn't remember where I'd seen it before. Sitting beside him was the last member of the group, a hefty, round-faced man with swollen cheeks. His hair was combed over his forehead. It seemed as if they'd put him beside the other one because he had the same reluctant smile. I'd bet money that those two weren't having any fun at all. Below right, the camera had recorded the date: 11/ 14/1990. Fine, so on November 14, 1990, four men were partying at the Diogenes Club. One of them was Pylarinos, the second one reminded me of some one, and the other two were foreign and unknown to me. What was special about it? Was it the photograph, or the date, or a combination of the two? I couldn't come up with an answer and I continued.
In the next photograph, the two with the sour smiles were in a cafeteria at a table beside the window. The photograph was taken from outside in the street and I couldn't make out their expressions because the glass was reflecting the light. The date at the bottom right was 11 / 17/1990. Three days after the Diogenes picture, the odd couple from the group had met to talk without the others. Why were these two meetings so important that Karayoryi had gone to the trouble of getting them on film?
It seemed that at some stage she'd grown tired of photographing people and had decided to focus on vehicles. Because the next four pictures were refrigerator trucks and coaches belonging to Pylarinos's company. The trucks bore the company name Transpilar, with the address and the telephone and fax numbers. On the left side of the coaches were the words "Prespes Travel," again with the company address, telephone, and fax numbers. Photographing people was one thing. Obviously, she had her reasons. But why was she photographing Pylarinos's fleet of vehicles? I couldn't understand it.
I heard the door open and looked up. Sotiris came cantering in.
"What is it?"
"I sent the written requests to the airport and customs. I'm waiting for a reply. They promised to phone me from customs as soon as they come up with anything, but as it's been two years all the documents have been filed away."
"What about the names I gave you?"
"I located all of them. Two of them came back dead. Fotiou died six months after returning. Petassi lived a bit longer. For a year. Died of AIDS. The only one still alive is Spyros Gonatas. I've got him outside waiting for you."
Of the five on Karayoryi's list, four were dead. We were off to a good start. "Bring him in," I said impatiently.
I opened the drawer and took out Karayoryi's file. I found the list. Gonatas was the one who'd traveled by bus to Budapest on March 3, 1992.
The door opened and Sotiris ushered in a couple. "Mr. and Mrs. Gonatas," he said, as he showed them where to sit.
Gonatas looked to be in his sixties, nearly bald, with just a few tufts of hair left around his temples. His jacket was a different color from his trousers. It wasn't a sports jacket and flannels, just the halves of two different suits. He was wearing a crewneck pullover, which left just enough room for the knot of his tie to stick out. His appearance suggested a small-time shop owner-haberdasher, stationer, milliner, something like that. The woman with him was a bit younger. She was wearing a loose, gray overcoat. Her hair was jet black, flecked with a few white hairs. Two ordinary people, who were now sitting opposite me, nervous and worried.
I put on my kindest expression to make them feel at ease. "Don't worry, it's not about anything serious," I said. "I just need to ask you a few questions." I saw them relax, but at that moment the phone rang.
"Haritos."
"Haritou." It was the voice of Katerina, who always laughed at her little joke.
"Hello. How's things?"
She immediately understood my tone, because usually I'm full of sweet talk. "Is someone with you?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Okay. I won't keep you. I just phoned to say that you're the best daddy in the world."
"Why?" I asked like a moron, as I felt a smile spread from one ear to the other.
"You know why. Because you're sending Mom up to me for the holidays."
"Are you pleased?"
"Yes, but only half pleased."
"Why only half?"
"Because the other half would be if you came. And you'll be all alone in Athens."